The Gift of Compassion

The gift of compassion
From a horrific blast.
With love now impassioned,
To our neighbors our eyes cast.

Fallen bodies surround.
There is so much to do.
All’s mangled on the ground.
We’ll work until we’re through.

There’s no time for weakness.
The survivors must work.
All surreal with meekness.
Though horrendous, non shirk.

United endeavor
To remember those lost.
With hearts changed forever-
Pain and suffering the cost.

To those who’ve endured pain
What does our Savior mean?
Do they pray and not feign?
Of His peace do they dream?

Our Savior gives havens,
For safety and for peace.
Temples are our beacons-
Where hearts and minds increase.

To our Savior who knocks,
May we open heart’s door.
Serve Him while there are clocks.
And, then forevermore.

- President Monson


4–10, Mar 2007, Thomas S. Monson,
“The Gift of Compassion, ” Ensign